Inches From Death
by Princess-of-Your-Doom95
Summary: Just a small little one-shot, featuring Shelly. Something happened and Shelly snaps, revealing her true self. A little OOC. Rated T for murder.


**Disclaimer - I do not own South Park, and this may be a little OOC.**

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><p>I was in the kitchen starting on the dishes as my mother and little brother started getting the Christmas decorations put up. They had to because we were going to my grandparents' house out of state on Wednesday night.<p>

"Stan? Can you please feed the pet?" I called out as I was taking dishes out of the dishwasher.

I waited a minute or two but Stan never came. I walked into view and saw him still helping mom.

"Stan!" I shouted, slightly aggravated.

"Hey, young lady! Where do you get off yelling at him like that?" My dad demanded. "You aren't his parent."

I roll my eyes. I really didn't want to get into it today. It was seriously just the other day that I got into a fight with my mom and threw my first punch (ever!) directly into her chin.

"Whatever." I somewhat shout as I walk back into the kitchen. "Just whatever."

Suddenly I feel a painful tug at my hair. I scream in pain for a nanosecond before I feel something at my neck.

"I am sick and tired of these games! I could slice your throat right now, even with the damn cops here." I heard my dad shout into my ear.

It was true, the cops had been at our house probably no more than half and hour ago. There had been a murder on the street up from us, an old man had been stabbed.

I begin going hysterical as I feel the knife at my throat, not touching the skin hard enough to kill me, but its presence still there.

I hear Stan begin to cry, and my mother telling him that I had to be dealt with because I was out of line. Good to see where I fucking stand in the family.

My dad shouts a few more things in my ear before he releases me and I fall back against a cabinet.

I clutch my still intact throat and put a hand over my mouth to try and calm myself.

My dad shouts a few more things at me, but I don't pay attention. All I can think about was the fact I was inches away from death!

"He tried to kill me." I mouth silently into my hand. "He tried to kill me."

I can hear my dad still yelling at me, but again I'm not paying attention. He tried to fucking kill me!

I frown and my mind flashes with images from crime shows I had watched before. Decapitated bodies, blood, knives, guns, everything seemed so much more tempting to me.

**NO! They are your family! He's your dad! You can't kill them!** My mind screamed at me.

The stupid voice was right, but not entirely. I couldn't kill them just because of the fact that they were my family. If I killed them, there was always the chance I would get found out. I can't do jail time! And there was the fact that I have nowhere else to go, I'm pretty sure my boyfriend of only a month wouldn't let me crash at his place.

"Now get your ass up and do the fucking dishes!" my dad screams.

I slowly stand, still clutching my neck. My dad grabs me again and tears my hand away.

"There's nothing there. But then again, it's your word against mine." He mutters as he tosses me to the ground.

I slowly stand back up and begin emptying the dishwasher. Forks with the forks, spoons with spoons, butter knives with butter knives. Everything going where it needed to be.

I open up the cabinet above me and begin putting away the plates and cups.

_He tried to kill me. That just made it obvious that he doesn't care about me. _I thought bitterly.

**That isn't true. Your family loves you.**

_They don't love me! Do you think if my mother loved me, she would have let him threaten me like that? Do you think if Stan loved me, he would have stood there crying? Do you think if my stupid dad loved me, he would have had a knife to my throat? They. Don't. Love. Me._

I begin putting away other dishes, glass bowls, plastic containers, things that I hate seeing every fucking night.

With everything put away, I began clearing off the table and putting the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. I flinched when I had to touch the steak knives, just seeing them made my throat hurt.

I quickly loaded everything that I could in the dishwasher. I really didn't want to stay in this part of the house much longer.

_Shit! Not everything fit! I'll have to wash them by hand. _I curse to myself as I start the dishwasher.

I put the plug in the sink and start filling it with warm water. I grab the dish soap and with shaky hands, pour some in. Then I start washing off the counters and stove while I wait for the sink to fill up. When the sink has enough water, I turn off the faucet and put some dishes in it.

I wash the dishes in the sink as quickly as I can. I scrub them free of food, rinse them off, and set them on a towel to somewhat dry. When the towel is filled, I grab another towel and begin drying the clean dishes, putting them away as I go along.

_It's obvious I'm no longer safe…I need a plan in case this happens again. _I think as I put away a glass cup.

**It won't happen again, your father lo-**

_If you say love, I swear to God that I will ensure your everlasting silence! _

The voice remains quiet after that, and I continue doing the dishes.

As soon as everything is clean and put away, I wipe down the counters again and drain the sink, washing the soap bubbles out of it.

Then I dart to my room, closing the door quietly. I have to plan my next move, and quickly.

I probably sat in the dark of my room for ten minutes before I heard someone approach my door.

"Shelly? Shelly, sweetie, it's daddy." The person says gently.

_Go away, you fucking bastard! Haven't you done enough?_ I silently curse at him.

The door opens and my dad is there, looking guilty and sad.

"Shelly? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He says, looking for me in the darkness. I guess he gave up because he turned on the light.

_Didn't mean to scare me, my ass. I'm sure if I held a knife to your throat, you would be scared too._

My dad sees me in the corner of my room and comes over to me. Sliding onto the floor, he lifts me up and places me on his lap. "Please forgive me, Shelly. I lost control and that wasn't good. But, you should know that I would never do anything to hurt you."

**Shelly, if you are planning on doing what I think you are, you better not. **The voice warns me, but I don't listen.

I turn to me dad with a tear-stained face. I sniffle a little bit. "Really, daddy? You could never hurt me?" I ask in a pitiful voice, pulling something slowly from under my shirt.

"Never, Shelly. You and Stan mean everything to me, I couldn't hurt either of you." My dad say sincerely.

"That's a shame." I say slowly. My dad gets a confused look and suddenly it turns to bewilderment and pain. "Because I can hurt you."

My dad looks down and see a kitchen knife sticking from his chest, in the exact place his heart is.

"Shelly…why?" he whispers in pain.

I slide off his lab and pull the knife out. I hold it up to my face and look at the crimson blood in fascination. "Why? Because you made me. If you hadn't have threatened me, I wouldn't have felt the need to dispose of you." I tell him.

I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. "Randy?" I hear my mom ask in concern.

I look back at my dad…no, he lost that right when he held that knife to my throat. I look at Randy, and grin evilly. "What to know something funny? That murder up the street was because of me, I killed him to see if I could." I tell him as I watch him suffer.

My mother opens my door and screams. "What happened?"

In an instant I throw the knife and lodge it directly into her throat, making her gurgle instead of scream. She dies instantly, shame I would have enjoyed taunting her.

"Shelly, why? What happened to my sweet little angel?" Randy asks me and he grimaces in pain, I doubt he has much longer.

"Because, I've hated you all for so long. Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't notice, I watched all those crime shows, read all those murder stories. You should have been suspicious. And when you told me I didn't have the guts to kill someone, I had to make sure that I did. It would have been a waste to do all that work and me not be able to do the deed." I say in disinterest. "So a couple nights ago, I went down to that old man's house. I had a bunch of paperwork that was hiding a knife, I told him I was selling cookies and he bought it. He let me in his house. Then while he was showing me to the living room, I pulled out my knife and stabbed him."

Randy groans in pain and I watch him in silence for a few minutes.

"He didn't die at first, so I grabbed some trophy he had and hit him in the head with it. He was out like a candle then. I felt no sorrow or pity, I felt no guilt. I did have what it took to kill someone, and with that knowledge I began planning your deaths. But this works too, I'll just make it look like an intruder. The old man's death will make it easily believable." I watch Randy's breaths grow slower and more ragged. "Looks like you're out of time, Randy. Pity, it was nice having this last heart to heart with you. Well goodbye, I hope to see you in Hell someday, perhaps we could do this again. Kenny tells me that if you die in Hell, you go to Heaven only to be kicked back down again. We could have as many heart to hearts as we want, now couldn't we?" I grin manically.

Randy gives one last breath before he dies. With him dead, I walk over to my dead mother and take the knife from her throat.

"Oh, Stan! Can you come here for a minute?" I call out, an evil grin still upon my face as I plan my next move. His footsteps are heard coming up the stairs, shame he will never walk back down them…

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><p><strong>Sorry about the crappy ending, but I needed somewhere to stop or Shelly would have murdered all of South Park, which would have included Kyle and I can't kill off my favorite Jew. :)<strong>

**Well let me know what you think. I don't care if it's a good review or a flame, also let me know if you found anything wrong grammatically or in the spelling.**


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